He's Misunderstood, That Makes Two of Us
by I heart the Hitachiin twins
Summary: A lonely prodigy and a feared pirate fox, what do they have in common? They're misunderstood. I'm Scarlett and this is the story of my short life, tragic death and rather eventful afterlife. NOT SLASH! Cover art by the extremely talented Windninjabreeze on deviantart.


**It is my personal belief that after the bite of 87 Foxy was deactivated, but there is enough of a spark for him to be aware and conscious, didn't do much else though. So how can he run the halls? Read on.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Five Nights at Freddy's**

Children can be inthralled by the same thing for an incredibly long time.

This was the thought that passed through my head as I wandered the bustling halls of Freddy Fasbear's Pizzeria. The familiar riff of an Offspring song rung through my designer headphones, cutting off the clamour of the busy restaurant. I got several odd looks as I headed as far away from the main stage as possible, I knew what those imbeciles were thinking. Why, was an ordinary twelve year old like me withdrawing into loud, angry music like a sullen teenager when there was cheerful entertainment and delicious pizza in the other direction? I snorted in dry amusement at their assumptions because the one thing I have _never_ been accused of being is ordinary. When I was only four I had been described as 'above average intelligence', by age six I was declared a prodigy in the field of phycology and had discovered my uncanny ability to read and manipulate people. Already, three universities were scouting me and one had already offered a scholarship. I hissed in annoyance. Me, go to university? No way.

Needless to say, my maturity levels rose extremely quickly and most things that held so much childhood joy now seemed infantile and even slightly creepy, the Freddy Fasbear crew were one of those things. However, my younger sisters of eight and six still found unbridled joy in the singing machines, so we went often, I have a feeling that my parents hoped it would reawaken the child in me that got crushed under responsibility and intelligence. Little did they know that my inner infant was buried under more than just that, it was also burdened with a thousand insults hurled at a daily basis. Freak, show off, know it all… I'd heard them all, even the ridiculous ones. Stupid (Clearly not, considering they're bulling me for my intelligence.), Vampire girl (What!? Sure I have pale skin and don't like sunlight but that hardly makes me a vampire.), Ugly (Contradictory to the former, considering legends depict vampires as forever young and attractive so I couldn't possibly be both.) and Demon. What about me reminded my tormentors of a demon I wasn't sure but I was certain that they were just reaching for insults now.

I was so absorbed in my thoughts I almost walked into a wall, I only just stopped fast enough. Looking around, I saw there were actually no people around. How… peculiar. I was just outside the main dining room in the west wing, that meant I was right next to… "Pirate cove." My stormy, grey eyes widened as I realised exactly where I was. Just before all this prodigy idiocy started the infamous area and it's red-furred mascot had captured my heart and never let it go. I had a theory that it was my adoration for the abandoned set that had stopped me from fawning over the other three animatronics, they simply didn't compare and even now I miss the gruff voice that used to ring through the halls and act as a security blanket against troubled thoughts that no one my age really should have been thinking.

Curiosity and nostalgia took over in a rare act of childlike emotion and I found myself trying the door. Locked. Well duh… I hung my headphones around my neck and pulled a hair pin from my long blonde tresses and let them fall to my waist. I then got to work, skilfully picking the rusted lock, it swung open and I ventured in. I gasped, the whole place was in a appalling state of disrepair. The velveteen curtains were moth-eaten and slightly mouldy, the stage was rotting and bloodstains still spattered the ground where my idol's sharp teeth had sunk into that security guard's head. I still remembered that day very clearly. I should, considering I caused it.

I had been gleefully watching the show with the other children when I had decided I wanted a closer look. I clambered up the stage on my small four year old feet and made my way over to the animatronic. "You really shouldn't be there." A voice behind me had said, I whirled around to find a security guard watching me. I shrugged and continued, I had talked to Foxy many times and he knew me by name. Face recognition, they said. Somehow I doubted that, although I knew it was scientifically impossible, but Foxy seemed to have more personality than most of the people I knew. He seemed too real to be fake.

The guard yelled "Oi! Are you listening to me?" Naturally, I did what any child would do, I screamed. Despite the traumatic experience, what happens next would cement the idea of Foxy having a personality in my mind for my entire life. As if he heard my call of distress, Foxy lunged forward and clamped his jaws around the unsuspecting man's face, then… Well, I make a point not to think of the details. But I am still firmly in my belief that Foxy was just trying to protect me.

Snapping myself back to reality I realised that time was limited. I pulled back the disgusting curtains to reveal my childhood hero. It made me choke up, how badly damaged he was. Clearly he hadn't been properly maintained. I made a mental note to bring tools next time I came. That, and means to raid the supply closet. I ran my slender fingers through the fur on his chest, it was matted and clogged with fluids I don't care to name but it was still the same as all those years ago.

It hurt to see him like this, I resolved to have him fixed up by Christmas, that was almost four months away. Although people weren't the only things I could manipulate and change and I was a perfectly good mechanic, I knew nothing of the machinery so this was going to be tricky, and oh, did I _love_ a challenge.

I whipped a notebook out of my back pocket and began taking notes on what I could see was wrong, muttering to myself all the while.. The fur and mask were filthy and torn, I may have to sow him a new one. Thankfully, his endoskeleton didn't seem to badly damaged and only needed little tweaks. His hook was getting rusty and would become unfixable if not attended to soon. Very carefully I peeked through the gaping hole in his chest to take a look at his voice box, I sighed in relief at it's good condition. Not perfect, but clearly fixable. I was glad, that voice would have been impossible to replicate without specialised equipment. That was all I could see and I hoped that that was where the damage stopped.

I sighed and pocketed the notebook again. How I was going to sneak the tools needed into the restaurant I had no idea but I would manage. I turned towards Foxy, my mind whirring with ideas of repairs and possible upgrades. "What do you say?" I addressed the still animatronic as if he could hear me, "Shall we get you fixed up?" No answer. I deflate slightly, as if I actually expected one. "I'll be back tomorrow, hold out 'till then, kay?" I turned to leave when suddenly…

"Scarlett?"

I spun around at the growling, husky but yet oh, so familiar voice that had spoken my name, not daring to hope… "Foxy?" I breathed, "W-was that you?"

The old animatronic blinked, his eyes glowing faintly. "Aye, lass." He replied in his gruff tone. I couldn't help it, I flung myself at the robotic fox and pulled him into a hug. I felt a thick liquid seeping through my shirt from his chest, but I couldn't care less.

"You're okay, and you're still active! This is amazing, I thought I would never talk to you again!" I felt tears pricking the back of my eyes and a few rebellious ones rolling down my pale cheeks. "Are you alright?"

"I ain't the one cryin'" Foxy pointed out, "But, I've been better." I smile at that, he hasn't changed a bit, we fell into a comfortable silence, allowing me to simply relish his presence. "Were ye serious?" He asked suddenly, I hummed as I looked up at him. "'Bout fixin' me, do ya' really think ye can do it?" I looked at him, all business once again. Evaluating the damage and adding up costs and repairs. I look him in the eye and nod solemnly. It was then that I made up my mind. I will repair Foxy and I'll do it before Christmas.


End file.
